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I haven’t come that hard in forever. I know that it’s because I was fantasizing about Allyson, something I haven’t let myself do in years. It feels important that I wasn’t picturing my high-school-era girlfriend, a blast from the past, so to speak, but rather, the Allyson I see now. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, which knots my stomach up.
Quick as I can, I soap up the rest of me and then rinse my body and the shower wall, where my cum runs down the tile like an accusation.
Yeah, I’m an asshole, a filthy, crude motherfucker who probably never deserved a nice girl like her, but at least now, I’ll be able to handle being around Allyson at practice without needing to fuck her right there on the grass.
Kids are so fucking resilient. They take the news about Mike’s schedule change in stride, mostly just giving Allyson curious looks when I explain that she’s the new Head Coach.
Johnathan raises his hand. “But you’re still our real coach, right?” He blushes a bit as he says it, eyes darting to Al like he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, but he’s asking what all the other boys want to know too.
“Yep, you’re stuck with me. You just get her too.” I point at Allyson with a thumb. “So, let’s get to work.”
After my little session in the shower, I dressed in workout gear on purpose. I have no intention of standing around for ten minutes with Al while the boys run their warm-up laps. Nope. Today, I planned to run with them.
When Allyson arrived in athletic gear too, tiny little shorts that show off the creamy skin of her thighs and round ass plus a tank top that hugs her full tits before brushing down her belly, a new idea planted itself into my mind.
“All right, line up for warm-up.” The boys hustle to the imaginary line in the grass. “You too, Coach.”
Al’s eyes jump to me in surprise. “Me? I wasn’t planning on running. Mike never did.”
I whisper but keep my voice loud enough that the boys can hear me. I want the façade of being nice even as I throw her to the wolves of pre-pubescent kids, letting peer pressure work for me. “Gotta prove yourself, Coach. Mike and I ran with the boys the first few practices. It’s good for teamwork.”
She must see the glint of a dare in my eyes because I can see her baby blues go steely. She straightens her back and lines up. “Okay, so what’s the deal? Fastest wins?”
She smirks, and I know she’s well aware that’s not how this goes. She’s giving the boys a chance to ‘teach’ her too. Good methodology, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s got Cooper, after all, and is probably a pro at working the system in her favor because a parent’s gotta have a lot of tools in their bag of tricks.
“No!” the boys cry out in unison. “No man left behind!”
But Cooper interrupts their chanting. “Uh, guys? My mom’s not a man. So maybe we should go with ‘No Wildcat left behind’ instead?”
Pairs of eyes jerk to me for approval. “Sounds good to me. Good for you, Coach?”
Allyson nods with a smile. “No Wildcat left behind, it is. On three . . .” She counts us down and we’re off.
The boys are so much better at this now. They instinctively stay together, but they’re watching Allyson and me, adjusting as they need to so we all stay together. I push the pace a bit, wanting them to progress, and then pull back as Allyson starts panting.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” I tell everyone, though I’m really just talking to Al. She darts a dirty look my way, but her breathing stabilizes.
A few minutes later, we cross the finish line and she high-fives every boy. “Great job,” she tells them, and they tell her the same thing, a degree of respect earned in their eyes.
I clap my hands, getting everyone’s attention. “We’re going to start with tackling again today. On the dummies!”
The boys’ excitement is palpable. Every kid loves tackle day. It feels so raw and balls to the wall to run at something with the express intent of destroying it.
But first, we review the angles of a hit, where their knees and shoulders should be, how to hold their head, and driving through with form. It almost sounds more like a geometry lesson, but it’s important so the boys are safe with each and every tackle. Even one bad hit can be catastrophic, so it’s all about muscle memory.
Allyson and I work with the boys, sometimes giving correction and sometimes doing the drill right along with them.
After a few minutes, I grab a big foam pad. “Okay, now let’s take it up a notch. Same drill, same form, but you’re going faster . . . and you gotta hit me.”
